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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710885">SPN Drabble (I'm So Angry You Guys)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx'>xpityx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:14:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The screen door had a hole in the size of a soccer ball and the second step down from the porch almost gave way when he put his weight on it. Cicadas sang loudly in the hazy dusk, the sky streaked with pink and orange. He couldn’t remember exactly where the house was, somewhere in the midwest he’d guess, but he did remember staying there for a whole six months, sometime between his twelfth and thirteen birthday.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>SPN Drabble (I'm So Angry You Guys)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wow, yeah. I stopped watching SPN around season 7 and I'm <i>livid</i> at the way Destiel shippers have been treated, so I can't imagine how folk who've stuck with it all the way through feel. Contains a reference to the Spanish dub (may they be ever blessed) that can be seen <a href="https://twitter.com/soberdenatural/status/1331497602739625985?s=20">here</a>.</p><p>Un-beta'd</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The screen door had a hole in the size of a soccer ball and the second step down from the porch almost gave way when he put his weight on it. Cicadas sang loudly in the hazy dusk, the sky streaked with pink and orange. He couldn’t remember exactly where the house was, somewhere in the midwest he’d guess, but he did remember staying there for a whole six months, sometime between his twelfth and thirteen birthday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d helped Sam collect tadpoles from the pond he was sure was just beyond the treeline, and they’d climbed the rickety railings around the porch to jump into the mud that collected by the south wall when it rained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Good memories, and a good place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean knew why he was there—he wasn’t stupid. Walking through a childhood memory made real could only mean one thing: he was dead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of warm grass and rotting wood. He was going to be sad and angry and all those things he was entitled to be, but first he needed to rest for a moment. There was no-one here to judge him for it, except perhaps Jack looking on—fuck knows he’d already seen enough of Dean’s shit to hopefully not be too disappointed with him—but he just needed a second to breath in the quiet and be done. He was done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes eventually and wiped away the dampness that had collected there despite his best efforts. He knew Sam was alive and he was determined to be happy about that, knowing he would get his chance to live the life he deserved: free to settle down and find people he loved, who would love him in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun had almost set by then, and as he looked towards the horizon he realised that the cicadas had gone quiet, and the birds in the trees were silent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lifetime of instincts kicked in and he spun to face the house, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Dean,” said a voice from his left and Dean took a step back, not out of fear but sheer disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned despite already knowing that Cas was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>: torn away from Dean like everything else and, although Dean might be able to believe he’d done enough good in the world to perhaps deserve his place here, in Heaven—he’d done nothing to deserve Cas, looking whole and healthy and still wearing that damn trench coat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cas—is it really you?” he faltered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Jack pulled me out of the Empty and told me you were here. I’m so sorry, Dean. I wish you’d had the chance to live out your life; to help raise your nephews and nieces and to die an old man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean took a step forward, then another when Cas remained in front of him. He reached out and gripped Cas’ arm, solid under his hand. Cas brought his hands up to grip him back with inhuman strength.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean took a gasping breath, leaning forward into the warm space between their bodies. Cas pulled him close, controlling their fall to the ground when it became clear that Dean couldn’t even hold up his own weight. He clenched his fists, fighting for control, but one sob escaped, then another, loud in the quiet. He cried, and it felt like poison running out of him, like loss and regret and anger: all those emotions he’d used to build a wall around his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eventually ran out of tears but couldn’t bring himself to look at Cas. His nose was blocked and he had a headache. He was sure that shouldn’t be possible in Heaven, he made a slightly hysterical mental note to tell Jack he’d fucked up that bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the cool blue of Cas’ mojo lit up the dark of where he’d buried his face in Cas’ shoulder, and he felt clear-headed and well again. Light, almost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up, so close to Cas that he could feel his breath on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what you think you deserve,” Cas told him, savage. “Do you want me here, Dean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, I need you, Cas. I always have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then I will stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Dean told him, unable to stop the words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, you told me. Well, actually you said ‘me too’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean laughed, a little brokenly. “You always got to have the last word, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cas placed his hands on the side of his face, reverent, and kissed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m right. I love you, Dean: now and always.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Dean believed him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If anyone has any prompts or wants to see anything else that would make them feel better about this whole shitshow then please feel free to drop me a line on my <a href="https://xpityx.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> (anon is on), or my <a href="https://twitter.com/xpityxfanfic">Twitter</a> - I'd be happy to help.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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